


Ashes in a Goldfish Bowl

by bitochondria



Category: Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Sonny Crockett, Displacement of Attraction, Episode: s01e19 Made For Each Other, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Night Stands, One-Sided Attraction, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, Romantic Angst, Smoking, Sonny wants Tubbs but has no way to process this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitochondria/pseuds/bitochondria
Summary: After making a failed pass at one of his fellow officers, Sonny Crockett tries to soothe himself with a stranger's affections, and he thinks about what (and who) it is hereallywants.(A short, angsty response to a particular sequence in the otherwise rather goofy Season 1 episode "Made for Each Other," in which Crockett appearsto very blatantly proposition Zito, of all people.)
Relationships: (one sided), Sonny Crockett/Ricardo Tubbs
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	Ashes in a Goldfish Bowl

Orange in a sea of pale yellow lamplight and shadow, the lighter flared to life. Sonny brought the tip of his cigarette, already between his teeth, to the flame and watched as his smoke ignited. Belatedly, he realized he probably should have offered one to his companion before lighting his own. He took a long drag in before playing host. 

Talking with the cigarette balanced in the corner of his mouth, he held the box up as he turned to the girl beside him. “Smoke?”

“Nah,” she shook her head, black hair falling in her eyes and on her forehead, “I’m good. Thanks though.” She leaned back on her palms, stretching her legs out under the covers. Sonny could see her flexing her ankles, toes pointing and then coming back to rest, under the sheets at the foot of the bed.

She was cute— real cute. Big eyes just on the grey side of hazel, skin like brown moonstone, perfect tits. She was Puerto Rican— her parents owned the  _ panaderia  _ on 33rd in Little San Juan, she had told him that over drinks— quite short, even in heels, and she had a fantastic smile. He had liked her immediately, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. 

She laughed, eyes crinkling and chin coming down to meet her bare chest. “You know what they say. My mama always told me, ‘Tonia, never stay the night with a man who owns an alligator.’”

“Your mom’s a smart woman,” Sonny yawned. He kind of wanted to make a joke about how Elvis wouldn’t be staying in the bedroom; something mild and nonthreatening to cajole her into staying. But he also was okay with her going home. Cute as she was, she was also not  _ exactly _ what Sonny had been hoping for tonight. He had only gone out to the bar after completely whiffing on a previous attempt to get laid, and had only really gone home with her because she was funny and he was horny. 

And besides, if she wanted to go, she should be allowed to go. She was a grown woman, and he had no claim on her. 

“I had a good time, though,” she smiled, earnest and a little mischievous. “You got a pen?” 

Sonny breathed out, smoke swirling into the room. 

“Side drawer.” 

She reached into the drawer by the bed and pulled out a pen and a notepad, and scribbled something down. “My number,” she explained, sticking the pad on the bureau. She pushed her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. “Gimme a call next time you’re feeling ‘lonely and dumb,’” she smirked, quoting him, “And we can be lonely and dumb together.”

Sonny couldn’t help but smile with her at that one. She really was  _ very _ cute.

Abruptly, she leaned over and kissed his jaw, and then threw off the covers. She swung her legs out over the bed and scanned the room for her clothes. Sonny couldn’t help but reach over and trail one finger down her back as she looked. She giggled and leaned way, way, over as she reached down for her shirt, quite deliberately exposing everything. 

Under different circumstances, now would be the time he’d be starting to regret telling her to go home. But he figured they could have a better time together another night, when he wasn’t feeling  _ quite _ so dumb and lonely. 

She dressed and grabbed her purse, humming.

Realizing he was being a louse, Sonny sat up a little higher in the bed. “You want a ride home?”

“I’m good.” Her eyes glittered a little. “Unless your gator wants to take the trip with us. I’m sure my roommate would get a real rise out of that.” 

Sonny laughed, a crinkly rasp. “Sorry, shortstuff, Elvis gets carsick.” 

“Bummer.” She turned to leave and then stopped. She squinted slightly, her impressive eyelashes catching the low light. “You okay, man?”

Sonny ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his face, charmed immensely, but in no mood to tell the truth.

_ Who calls someone they just fucked ‘man?’  _

“I’m good, gorgeous,” he lied, smiling lopsidedly through a puff of smoke.

_ Probably the kind of woman who sleeps with a guy who calls her ‘shortstuff.’ _

“Let’s do this again some time.” She laughed, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe even in the daylight.” 

“It’s a date,” Sonny agreed, and he meant it. Under other circumstances.

She left, and he breathed in smoke, acrid and hot. But still not enough to burn away the feelings he’d been having since he stopped by the precinct, earlier.

_ Lonely and dumb. _

In a fit of insanity— no jury would convict him— he had propositioned Zito.  _ Zito _ . Larry “Human Jury Duty Notice” Zito. He wasn't even  _ attracted _ to Zito, not really. 

But the schmuck was alone at the station in the middle of the night, whispering sweet nothings to his goddamn  _ goldfish _ , and suddenly Sonny had felt a great rush of empathy and affection for the man. And so they had talked. And the way Zito had talked about Switek, practically starry-eyed— “but here’s someone who can crush your head in his bare hands… and he cares that your eggs are done  _ just right _ ”— had sounded like a confession. Sonny had always wondered about those two, but this had seemed like confirmation. And so he had turned up the charm, a little bit. Flirted a little. Made a dirty insinuation. And Zito had seemed on board with it, until he actually asked him to come back to his place. 

His self-esteem probably should have been bruised from being rejected by  _ Zito _ of all people. His only real relief was to think that he probably didn’t even know he was  _ being _ propositioned. And besides, he hadn’t thought things through at all; if they had fucked, what then? They would have to pretend it never happened for the rest of their careers. 

But okay. 

Really. 

His self-esteem  _ was _ bruised. That’s why he had found himself chatting up pretty girls at a late-night dive bar. Tonia had been a  _ significantly _ better decision than Zito would have been, but he still felt a little lonely, and a little stupid. 

He had wanted to feel rough hands on his back tonight, stubble on his neck. 

As a cop, fucking other men was frowned upon. At best. He doubted Castillo would  _ fire  _ him if he ever found out, but he would also quite certainly be told to keep it quiet or transfer. As an undercover drug runner, his options weren’t much better. The underworld was a perfectly fine place to get your dick sucked anonymously, but it was also a great place to get  _ shot _ getting your dick sucked anonymously.

Or, maybe worse, end up in a jail cell. And have to explain to your superiors, and your partner, and the rest of the precinct,  _ why _ exactly you were caught in a gay sex sting. 

But still. 

Most of the time, he would probably describe himself as being 70/30, maybe even 80/20 on being attracted to women versus men. Sex with women was easy. Fun. Joyful, frequently. But even as far back as high school he had known that sometimes, what he really wanted was something he just wasn’t going to get from a woman. If he had a single good thing to say about his time in the Southeast Asian Conference, it was that he suddenly had a lot more chances to fulfill those needs. While he was with Caroline, the desire for men— and other women— subsided almost entirely. She had been enough for him. Even now, perpetually single, the desire to fraternize with other men came and went; he’d find his way into bed with some other equally repressed closet case and be satisfied for the next few weeks or months.

But recently, he had  _ really _ wanted a man’s hands on his body. 

Not Zito’s, although he would have taken them as a substitute.

Not just any random dick-off-the-street, either.

He wanted a very specific pair of hands, and  _ god _ , could Sonny just about  _ taste  _ his longing for them. Brown hands— quick and skilled and steady, larger than his own. Strong hands. Elegant, in a solid, sturdy way, usually embellished with something gold, equally sturdy and elegant. 

Sonny closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to banish the image from his mind.

Hands, he tried to remind himself, belonging to a man who was, by every known metric, exclusively heterosexual. And who was, by all known rules of workplace fraternization, completely off-limits even if he wasn’t.

But he  _ dreamt _ about him sometimes, like some kind of infatuated teen mooning over a celebrity. Dreamt about his hands, and his eyes, and that smile that was quick but always a little crooked, so often paired with a blink and a soft look downwards. Dream about what his body would feel like, hot and solid and athletic, beside his own. Dreamt about the taste of him. 

It had never been like this with other partners. 

He had been happily married through the first two, and Eddie… well. Thinking about Eddie still twisted something dark and wet and ugly inside him. Eddie who had been so unerringly, impossibly in love with his wife. He was a honestly good man, and Sonny had loved him, but he had never wanted to fuck him.

It was different, this time.

Even before getting over his initial distrust, Sonny had found Tubbs physically attractive. Not the first time he found himself a little hot over someone who irked him, and it wouldn’t be the last. As they became friends, Sonny assumed any lingering allure would dissipate. That they’d get comfortable and familiar, and the shine would wear off. 

It had not.

He wondered for a while if maybe it was a product of his divorce: that he wasn’t just looking for sex, but a partnership, and Tubbs came with partnership built in. He contemplated the possibility that he was going through an early midlife crisis, and that wanting to do something as unfathomably stupid as fucking his partner was some kind of symptom of that. He even briefly contemplated some kind of psychological disturbance— that maybe he was reaching out for a masculine influence because he was subconsciously trying to relive his childhood or something. None of these explanations really held water, least of all the last one. If he had  _ daddy issues _ to work out, his subconscious was certainly choosing a rather unconventional representation of his father to work them out with. 

Unfortunately, Sonny admitted, he just  _ really liked  _ the guy. 

He smiled, laughing smoke out his nose, and shifted his legs on the bed. Quite a bit more than he had ever really  _ liked _ another man before. And of course, Tubbs was one of those goddamn secure-in-his-masculinity types who didn’t shy away from friendly physical contact— a sure sign he was straighter than an arrow. Sonny had spent enough time on a football field to know the difference between a touch and a  _ touch _ . Tubbs was like a lot of Sonny’s old teammates; the arm could go around your shoulder because you  _ weren’t _ suspect. If Tubbs ever found out Sonny wasn’t a Grade-A American Heterosexual, he’d probably never touch him again.

_ Yup. _

_ Lonely and dumb _ .

There was no use fixating on it, because it was never going to happen. But it was hard not to get a little hung up on someone when you spent most of your waking hours with them, and then they showed up as a regular fixture in your dreams, too. 

He took one last, buzzy drag off his cigarette and sat, just for a moment, watching the ember at the tip grow darker. 

He stubbed it out in the ashtray beside the bed, grinding his feelings down into the ash alongside it. 

Tubbs was hardly the first person he wasn’t allowed to love.

He clicked off the bedside light and let his head fall to the pillow, and he watched the ceiling until he fell asleep.


End file.
